


Defenses

by inatshej



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Books, Cats, College Student Stiles, Comfort/Angst, Comforting Derek, Cooking, Croissants, Derek Cooks, Derek Hale & Lydia Martin Friendship, Derek Hale With Cats, Derek With Cats, Derek's Past Consent Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil Jennifer, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Food, Friends to Lovers, Hunter Allison, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jennifer Blake is the Darach, Librarian Derek, Loneliness, M/M, Magic, Magical Lydia Martin, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Jennifer Blake, Minor Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Nightmares, Nogitsune Trauma, Omega Derek, POV Derek, Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scent Marking, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Some Humor, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski Cooks, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Studying, Tags Are Fun, Tea, Tired Stiles Stilinski, Touch-Starved Derek, Touching, Werewolf Derek, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inatshej/pseuds/inatshej
Summary: ''Do you know the Molotov Cocktail café near the station? I think their pastries are the best. We could go there this weekend.''Oh wait.Oh shit.Oh fuck. He's proposed a date.''Sure,'' Stiles agrees easily with a shrug.Immediate friendzoning.But did he really get friendzoned just now? Can he get friendzoned when they aren't even friends?Does that make them friends? It would be nice, actually-god, he just feels so lonely at times.





	Defenses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheerpoetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheerpoetry/gifts).



> Based on sheerpoetry's prompt:  
> Librarian Derek (because Hoechlin wears A LOT of sweaters, okay?) and grad student Stiles. Stiles is probably working on his thesis on something incredibly rare and specific (And also freaking out because why doesn't the library have this ONE book he needs?). Derek to the rescue! (Bonus points if he has his own copy.)  
> (Or Derek could still totally be a werewolf and Stiles's thesis is on the supernatural. And he owns that book Stiles is looking for--it's a family heirloom.)  
> (I'm okay with light angst, as long as there's a happy ending! No bdsm or mpreg please.)
> 
> Do you get this feeling for a cute, fluffy fic? Yeah. Me too.  
> ...and I'm so sorry. Really. I tried but whichever way I thought about it, I ended up with angst, angst, angst. So here it is. Angsty, but with some humor and cats and croissants, because apparently, that's what constitutes fluff for me. Vaguely inspired by [Stepping Off the Razor's Edge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683653) by MissAnnThropic and [you know you're on my mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729479/chapters/23777535) by bibliosexual.
> 
> A huge thank you to Klam, the best beta to ever beta (also my first beta, but don't worry, I'm not biased or anything).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

''Sorry, do you have this book?''

Derek looks at the paper. _Ley Lines in the Northern California_.

Another guy interested in magic. ''Can I see your library card?''

''Uh, sure.''

He looks innocent enough with his big brown eyes and messy hair, but Jennifer looked innocent as well. She was a _high school teacher_.

Derek glances at his species immediately. Human/Spark. Supposedly, sparks aren't that powerful in themselves but Jennifer was supposedly human until she turned out to be a witch whose real name was Darach.

Right, his name-

Derek frowns. ''What's your name?''

''Oh. Yeah, that's a tricky one, huh? Mieczysław Stilinski. Polish heritage, you know, but I go by Stiles.''

Derek hums, his mind somewhere else entirely. He hasn't heard about any trouble in Poland, but then again, he wasn't keeping in touch with the supernatural world. Quite the opposite, actually – he avoided any news, closed in his passable-as-human life.

''Yeah,'' he says, standing up. It's not his clipped tone, but he's not exactly friendly, either. ''Follow me.''

Walking ahead of the guy, he takes in his smell – which is surprisingly nice. He moves the thought aside and focuses on the other layers. He can feel an alpha werewolf and, yes – he can't help a grimace at that – the magic.

 

''Hi, Lydia.''

''Oh, Derek? Haven't heard from you in a while. How are you doing?''

''I'm fine, thanks. Wanted to ask you if you've heard of anything happening in Poland?''

''Poland? No,'' she sighs. ''Fortunately. We have enough of a mess with Beacon Hills.''

''Beacon Hills?'' frowns Derek. ''What happened there?''

''Haven't you heard? Darach has been channeling her power through the ley lines over there and poisoned the Nemeton, which dragged all kinds of demons to the town, including the Nogitsune.''

''Nogitsune,'' repeats Derek, his eyes widening.

''Yeah. There was a spark in the area which it has taken control over. It's finished now, of course, but,'' she sighs again. ''It's basically a mass murder. We have our hands full.''

''I'm sorry,'' he says awkwardly. ''Do you think you could tell me this spark's name?''

Lydia pauses. ''Leave him, Derek. He has enough on his plate as it is.''

He doesn't speak for a while. ''Yeah. Okay.''

 

Stiles asks for _The Nemeton: An Introduction_. Derek keeps his face blank and gives him the book, wondering again if the guy's a victim or a too-interested spark, researching the shit out of Nemeton to use some of its power to his advantage – especially since his place of birth is Beacon Hills.

He doesn't seem like a man focused on his goals, though. He's quiet, fights the drowsiness all the time with too much coffee and, most of all, he is overwhelmingly tired.

That's why when Derek sees him laying with his head down on the table for a long while, he comes up and asks, ''Are you okay?''

''Huh? Uh, yeah, sorry. I didn't get much sleep.''

He definitely looks so – pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, gripping his desk to stay upright.

He'll faint any moment now.

Derek grimaces. ''You should take a break and eat something.''

''That's a great idea,'' the guy nods. ''Except I've left my money at home.''

Derek sighs. _College_.

''Come with me.''

They go through the library, Derek glancing at times to make sure Stiles is following him and not trying to hug the floor.

When they reach a cafeteria, he orders two cups of tea and two chocolate croissants.

Sits with Stiles at the table.

''Eat,'' he orders.

Stiles eyes him and takes a sip of tea instead. ''Ugh, it's hot,'' he complains.

''Look, I know that you have exams and essays to write and your dissertation, and that all of it may seem overwhelming at times, but you need to take care of yourself,'' says Derek, looking at the guy with his best I'm-older-you-listen-to-me face.

The guy watches him with a frown, then huffs out a surprised laugh. ''It's not college,'' he says, shaking his head. ''I'm fine with my studies.''

''You seem exhausted, though.''

He sighs and messes his hair, turning away. ''You're a werewolf, right?''

Derek freezes, eyeing the guy. ''How do you know that?''

''Calm down,'' he says dismissively. ''My best friend's a werewolf. I noticed that you smell things, stand still at times with your head tilted, like you're listening in to something, and have no backache even after hours of sitting.''

Derek doesn't answer, still wary.

''Okay, well, you know I'm from Beacon Hills and you probably know what has happened there, so yeah,'' the guy grimaces and looks away, ''I'm not sleeping because of PTSD.''

Derek feels his eyes widen at the confession. ''Did you know one of the victims?''

The human huffs out an unamused laugh. ''Only all of them,'' he says, still focused somewhere on his left, and attempts to drink his tea again just to get burned again. He sighs. ''Beacon Hills is a small town, people know each other. That's why I've left, actually.''

Derek doesn't answer and moves one of the croissants closer to the guy. He takes it but instead of eating, starts to pick on it and talks again. ''I thought that choosing this Nogitsune case for my dissertation would help me work through it but,'' he makes a face, ''I just feel like shit. I mean, it's supernatural, it's interesting in this detached way but it also sucks, and none of it actually matters if I can't find much information on the Nogitsune.''

''You can try our archive,'' replies Derek. ''Or try searching more generally, for demons instead.''

The guy glances at him, his eyebrows raising. ''Thank you.''

 

Derek sees him again two days later and instantly snaps his eyes up to observe him. He probably looked that bad himself when Jennifer was starting to get impatient, those last few days before – never mind.

The boy seems somewhere far away, a blank look on his face, lost in his thoughts when someone brushes past him. The human immediately moves away, alarmed.

Derek narrows his eyes, regarding him. The touch was nothing to panic about, the stranger didn't even touch his skin, yet the boy freaked out. He manages to collect himself but noticing Derek, he bites his lip and starts knocking the floor with his foot, then messes his hair.

When he steps closer, Derek can tell by his smell that he is nervous.

''Hey,'' he says and shoots him a weak smile. ''Thanks for the advice last time, it has really helped me.''

''You're welcome,'' replies Derek blandly, still gazing at him. He doesn't seem much better, the dark shadows under his eyes still visible, he is pale.

''Look, I feel kind of bad that you helped me last time, I mean,'' he bites his lip again and shifts his weight, ''I'd like to repay you. Is it okay if I buy a croissant?''

''Sure,'' says Derek, surprised. He takes in the human's smell again, but it's fine – the boy doesn't seem interested in him, there is no trace of attraction. He honestly just wants to return a favor. ''My break starts in an hour.''

The spark glances at him, his eyes widening a bit. ''Oh, alright. I'll come here then,'' he says and leaves.

Derek frowns at first, then realizes that the boy could have just bought him a croissant without spending a break together.

Not that it matters.

 

''I hate this GitHub program,'' grumbles Derek. ''I've spent the last 60 minutes trying to find information on one book. _One book_ ,'' he repeats, keeping eye contact with the boy. ''I hate technology.''

Stiles smiles. ''You want me to help you?''

Derek shakes his head. ''I've been working on this program for a while. I'll find the solution sooner or later. I'm sorry to say that, but you have no chance.''

Apparently, it's the wrong thing to go with, because Stiles narrows his eyes and smirks. ''Try me.''

Derek finds a vicious satisfaction during the first 5 minutes of the human's work on the program. He tries all the ways Derek's tried and fails. Take it, youth's overconfidence.

During the next 5 minutes, the small victorious smile leaves his face and he starts watching Stiles properly.

The boy finds the correct route.

''I kind of hate you now,'' he confides.

Stiles grins. ''Do I get a croissant?''

Derek rolls his eyes. ''To be honest, though, you've really helped me,'' he says, briefly touching Stiles' arm to focus his attention on himself.

Stiles' smile turns tense and his smell changes, giving way to anxiety.

Derek takes his hand back at once. ''You do get a croissant,'' he blurts out, feeling guilty. ''A good kind of one.''

Stiles quirks an eyebrow, interested.

''Do you know the Molotov Cocktail café near the station? I think their pastries are the best. We could go there this weekend.''

Oh wait.

Oh shit.

 _Oh fuck._ He's proposed a date.

''Sure,'' Stiles agrees easily with a shrug.

Immediate friendzoning.

But did he really get friendzoned just now? Can he get friendzoned when they aren't even friends?

Does that make them friends? It would be nice, actually-

god, he just feels so lonely at times.

''Okay.''

Friends, then. Maybe.

He sighs inwardly.

 

Allison is here today. She keeps glancing at them, not even trying to be subtle.

''Does she have a thing for you?'' asks Stiles, when she disappears in the kitchen.

''Who? Allison?'' Derek looks at him and huffs out a laugh, startled. ''No, she's a hunter.''

Stiles makes a face. ''We can go somewhere else,'' he offers.

''No, I've promised her to come here at least once a week so that she can make sure I'm not going crazy.''

Stiles frowns, still regarding him. ''Why would you...''

''I don't have a pack.''

Stiles doesn't answer at first. ''Uh,'' he licks his lips and bites the lower one, his eyes cast downwards at the table between them. ''My friend, Scott, he is an alpha-''

''I'm not looking for one.''

Stiles just nods and doesn't push, for which Derek is immensely grateful. His parents, his sisters, even his uncle-

it was a long time ago but that doesn't change anything. He only had one pack.

''So, this is the best croissant in the whole city,'' says Stiles, regarding the pastry with narrowed eyes, then glances at Derek. ''It better be good.''

Derek smiles a bit. ''It is.''

''Just so you know, I have high standards.''

Stiles takes a bite and moans around the croissant, deeply affected.

Derek looks at him flatly. ''You're happier about this than my cats are about their food.''

Stiles blinks at him and swallows, his eyes wide. ''You have cats?''

Derek draws his eyebrows slightly at the reaction. ''Is that odd?''

''No, no,'' he shakes his head. ''What are they called?''

''Poe, Cthulhu, and Noir.''

Stiles snorts. ''Do you have photos?''

Derek takes out his phone, going to the gallery.

''Oh my god,'' Stiles raises his hand to stop him from moving on to another picture. He grins, watching the photo of half-asleep Derek with three cats sprawled around him. ''This is a prime material for a teenage girl's wallpaper.''

Derek frowns again. ''Thanks?''

''Sure, take that as a compliment.'' Stiles waves his hand. ''Can you send this photo to me?''

Derek shrugs and gives Stiles the mobile.

When the photo is sent, Stiles beams at him. ''So,'' he licks his lips, ''do you have someone you like?''

Okay, he's officially lost.

''No,'' he replies carefully, tensing.

''Shame,'' says Stiles and glances at his phone. ''This photo is a great blackmail material.''

The relief floods through Derek.

''What would you blackmail me for?''

Stiles doesn't reply at first, thinking about it. ''Can you cook?''

''Yeah.''

''Well, here's your answer.''

''I thought you had high standards.''

Stiles gives him a small grin. ''Free is all the standards I have.''

Regarding the boy, Derek tries to smell him subtly, but there is still no attraction. Why does it feel like he's flirting then?

Or is it just him? It could be. He's not exactly good with people. It's easier with Stiles, somehow, probably because the boy doesn't really expect anything, just goes with the flow, talks.

 

During the next two weeks, the guy, the boy, the spark finally becomes just Stiles. He comes to the library almost every day, studying and writing his dissertation until Derek can't stand his jerky movements after over-caffeinating himself, his dark shadows under his eyes and hiding his head in his hands trying to rest, and drags him out for a break.

They take croissants and their drinks and talk.

Derek doesn't realize how much he needed that, just talking with someone, caring for someone until Stiles doesn't show up for three consecutive days.

He has his number and could text him, but Derek's a librarian. It would be like reminding Stiles to study when he really needs to rest.

Something could have happened to him.

But Stiles lives with his friend, there is no point to worry, it's not his _place_ to worry-

he decides to wait some more.

Stiles shows up on the fourth day. He doesn't seem like a guy that took a break.

''I loathe my dissertation,'' he moans. ''I love the topic and researching but I loathe it,'' he continues, adding some sugar to his tea. ''And why do you always make me take tea? I need coffee.''

''You drink too much coffee on your own.''

''There is no such thing as too much coffee,'' dismisses Stiles. ''Just like there is no such thing as an available copy of _Nogitsunes & Magic – The History._''

Derek freezes, his cup hanging in the air. ''What?''

''I can't find this book anywhere. I've been searching for it everywhere for the last few days, but no one has it.''

''I have it,'' says Derek.

Stiles sighs. ''You don't. I've asked for it and this library has lost the copy.''

''No, I mean – _I_ have it,'' repeats Derek, still looking at Stiles.

The boy's eyes widen. ''Like – in your home?''

Derek nods.

''Oh my god, can I borrow it? I need it. I can even give you a photo to blackmail me with so that we're even, I just need this book.''

''Or you could just delete the photo of me.''

''Nope, I've discovered a teenage girl within myself, I like it.''

Derek wills his hand to move again and drinks some tea. Stiles was telling the truth about liking the photo, his heartbeat remaining steady, but he doesn't mean what it could mean, he just – talks like that.

''So, uh, is it okay if I borrow it?''

Derek frowns and glances at him, almost offended. ''It's a family heirloom,'' he says, incredulous. ''It's not leaving my house.''

''Oh.''

''You can come over, though, and read it there.''

Crap.

He is coming on too strong, isn't he.

But is he even coming on to Stiles? He just wants to be friends, doesn't-

''Dude, really?'' asks Stiles, blinking at him all hopeful, his eyes whiskey brown.

Derek swallows and nods, not looking at the boy.

He doesn't like what it could mean.

 

''It's huge,'' says Stiles, regarding the book. He tentatively reaches in to open it on the title page. ''I'll spend hours researching it,'' he adds, grinning.

Derek glances at him, unsure if it's a good thing, but Stiles seems overjoyed.

Focused on his dissertation, the boy doesn't talk as much as he usually does, but he seems to liven up the space nevertheless. Derek also reads a book, fights with his Kindle (technology), and finally fills his time with coloring, talking with Stiles from time to time.

A few hours later, Stiles is still working, but Derek is starting to get hungry.

He makes spaghetti bolognese. Stiles tries to reject the offer of dinner but the smell conquers him, and he stays.

''I think that's the best thing I've eaten in months,'' admits Stiles, curling up pasta around his fork.

Derek narrows his eyes at him. '' _Spaghetti_ is the best thing you've eaten in months?''

''Uh,'' begins Stiles and stills, ''kinda,'' he shrugs.

''You're coming here tomorrow.''

Stiles furrows his eyebrows. ''Why does that sound like an order?''

''Because it is.''

Stiles huffs out a laugh and glances away, shifting his weight. ''Look, thanks for the offer, but I can't impose like that-''

''It's okay.''

''No, seriously,'' Stiles bites his lip and moves his hand through his hair, messing it up. ''You're a werewolf and this is your house, I can't just-''

''It's okay,'' repeats Derek. Stiles opens his mouth to say something more, but Derek can take a hint. ''You don't have to,'' he says, softer. ''But I wouldn't mind it if you came.''

He barely keeps himself from moving, not wanting to show how vulnerable he feels.

Stiles groans. ''You're too nice,'' he complains. ''I mean, that's the problem. I don't know if I can do anything _for you_.''

Derek relaxes his shoulders, looking up. ''Actually, yes. Clean up after dinner, help me with this program at my work, show me how to download the book for my Kindle,'' he counts.

Stiles shakes his head, but he's smiling. ''Show me your Kindle.''

 

They see each other pretty much every day. During the week, they spend breaks together in the library, during the weekend, Stiles comes over to work on Derek's book. During the nights, when Stiles is gone, Derek is overwhelmed with the silence in his apartment. He has three cats but there's only so far you can get without any people in your space.

Stiles' smell and his start to intertwine. Derek should find it offensive – he's a werewolf – but he likes Stiles' scent, he likes the way it mixes with his own.

He doesn't think about it.

 

Stiles finishes analyzing the book. It's not the end of him coming over to Derek, because Derek has another book he can use, and then when he's finished this one as well, he stretches and lies down on the couch.

Derek looks at him, sitting on the other end. Stiles' toes are almost touching his thigh. He wonders if he should withdraw a little, just in case, but before he can decide Stiles speaks up.

''I've done a lot. I'm allowed to relax for a while.''

''It's fine.''

''You wanna watch something?''

Derek stills. Watching a film, eating a dinner, seeing each other almost every day – all of it screams relationship which he can't-

but this is Stiles. He doesn't think of it this way.

He could just check, smell Stiles, ask him and listen to his heartbeat, but he knows Stiles. He must trust him if he's allowed him to stay over this much.

Torn inside, Derek doesn't answer at first and Stiles glances at him with a slight frown, raising on his elbows and moving his legs closer to himself. ''You okay?''

Derek nods and feeling guilty, but _he has to_ , reads Stiles' smell.

No attraction. He relaxes and promises himself he won't check it again – he's spent enough time distrusting Stiles.

''Okay.''

 

 _Well. Easier said than done_ , sighs Derek, reading Stiles' smell. He does have a good excuse – Stiles looks really bad today, the shadows under his eyes even darker, his skin sickly pale, he seems dizzy. He isn't hurt or ill, though.

''Are you okay?''

''Huh? Oh, hey. Yeah, just, you know. Rough night,'' shrugs Stiles.

Derek keeps looking at him. ''What happened?'' When Stiles doesn't answer at first, he adds as gently as he can, ''You can tell me.''

Stiles glances at him and tries to smile weakly, mostly fails. ''It's Scott. I mean, I feel like an asshole, he's done so much for me, he helps me with the nightmares but,'' he makes a face and sighs, messing his hair. ''They just won't stop. And there is only so far you can go before snapping.''

Derek turns his head at once to him. ''He said something to you?''

''No, no,'' Stiles shakes his head. ''No, I just feel like we're slowly getting there. I need to get out of his hair, you know?''

Derek doesn't. He doesn't know how a friendship as close as this one really works. He's never had anything like that.

''Do you want to stay the night at my apartment?''

Stiles opens his mouth to respond and looks at him, his eyes widening. He closes his lips, licks them, glances at Derek again.

Yeah.

Too much, too fast.

''I'm sorry,'' he says, quieter. ''I just want to help.''

He's just made it worse.

He can't meet Stiles' eyes.

''No, dude, that's-'' Stiles pauses, searching for words. ''I mean, really? I'm the worst possible person to have as a guest.''

Derek smiles a bit, grateful for the attempt to lighten the mood.

''But actually, is it okay if I prepare the dinner this time? I want to try to repay you properly.''

''You don't have to.''

''I want to,'' argues Stiles.

''You can cook?''

''Yeah, but I don't really do that now because my kitchen is a health hazard most of the time.''

 

They are leaving to eat something (''It's not _something_ with you, man. It's always croissants,'' hears Derek) at the cafeteria, when Stiles, avoiding a girl going the other way turns closer to Derek, and their arms brush. Once, and then again, and the girl's gone, it's just them in the corridor, and their arms brush again.

Derek can't help glancing at Stiles and checking up on him even as he knows he breaches the boy's privacy, it's violating all the rules he's been taught and by which he's been living as a child, when his family – his pack was still alive, and he takes in Stiles' smell. There is no uneasiness.

Before he can really think about that, Stiles looks at him and gives him a small smile. He doesn't even seem surprised at how close they are.

''I was thinking of what I could prepare for Saturday,'' he starts.

He is good-looking, notices Derek suddenly. Under all the tiredness, his eyes are – nice, especially when they brighten, and his skin is pale, creamy, dotted with moles, and, and he really should focus on what Stiles is saying.

''Peanut noodles,'' states Stiles with a wide grin, showing him his mobile.

Derek's eyes widen at the recipe. ''Don't do that, Stiles.''

''Oh, come on! It's peanut butter!''

''Yeah, and pasta, and spring onion. It sounds _appalling_.''

''No, Derek, it sounds like a challenge.''

''I have let you cook in my kitchen, not experiment on me.''

''I can't help being creative!''

Derek gives him a flat look. ''Just – stick to the basics before I make sure you actually can cook.''

Stiles rolls his eyes but nods unwillingly, biting into his croissant.

 

On Thursday, they discuss muffin vs donut vs brownie vs croissant, with Derek supporting wholeheartedly croissant and Stiles everything at once, as in: eating all of those at once, when Derek straightens his legs and touches Stiles' by accident. He retracts them right back.

''I'm sorry,'' he says immediately, glancing at Stiles worriedly. Stiles stills and swallows with difficulty, reaching for his tea and hiding his face with a cup.

Derek clears his throat, searching for something to say. ''Have you ever made donuts or muffins?''

Stiles smiles at him weakly, grateful, and nods. ''Muffins. It was,'' he pauses, searching for the right word, ''...an adventure,'' he decides finally. ''I was a kid and decided to put in them everything I liked.'' He gives Derek a heavy look. '' _Everything_.''

 

Stiles settles for making pizza. He seems to be in a good mood, he's having fun with cooking but finally, he has to go back to writing his dissertation.

Derek cleans after dinner. There is a lot to do, he discovers, but he doesn't mind it. When he's still not finished after a while, Stiles glances at him with a frown, then away seeing all the dirty pots, but Derek just smiles.

''Don't worry, the pizza was more than worth it.''

Stiles smiles as well but Derek can tell he's not convinced. He doesn't know what else he could say, though.

When he's finished, he gives his cats food and finds his coloring book.

Stiles can't seem to focus today, shifting his weight, glancing around, sighing and rolling his shoulders, knocking the table with his hand.

''Fuck,'' he says suddenly. ''It's almost 10pm and I still haven't finished this one freaking article about Nemeton in culture,'' he bites his lip worriedly. ''And I have to write something about shapeshifters in California, and send an email to my professor, and,'' he stops himself and clenches his fists. ''Fuck, I can't. I just can't.''

Derek glances at him, taken aback. ''Stiles, it's okay-''

''It's not fucking okay, I have deadlines and I left you with all this cleaning just because I wanted to-''

''Stiles, I don't mind-''

''Oh, fuck, don't say that. Do you even-'' he pauses, taking a shuddering breath, ''do you even know why I keep spending so much time in a library?''

Derek freezes, eyeing Stiles. He tries to swallow, suddenly fearing the answer.

''I can't fucking focus on anything. It's never even been the problem, I've been working in my dorm for the whole previous year, but now every little thing spins my head out of control just because-''

Stiles stops himself again, trying to take a breath and Derek wants to help him so much, but he has no idea what to do. He can't touch Stiles, can't hug him, and the boy won't listen to him, so slowly he just moves closer.

''They say it wasn't my fault,'' he speaks quietly, his hands shaking. ''But it killed- and I saw all of it, everything-''

''Stiles,'' repeats Derek again, feeling useless. He reaches to Stiles with his hand, just trying to do something even as he knows Stiles won't touch him, won't let himself be touched – but Stiles takes it in both of his and leans his head against Derek's upper arm.

''I'm sorry,'' he says finally, his eyes closed. ''I'm such a mess. I know I don't have that much to do but it just, it just feels so overwhelming. Like I won't be able to cope with it.''

''You'll be fine, Stiles,'' says Derek, as quietly as Stiles. ''I think you're doing great with-'' he pauses, searching for the words, ''with whatever happened in Beacon Hills. Scott will help you, and your dad, and,'' Derek closes his eyes briefly, ''and I'll help you, too.''

There are two points of contact between them, more than ever before, they are closer than ever before, their hands joined, Stiles' forehead on Derek's arm.

Derek has never been this focused on a physical contact with another person. Stiles feels warm against him.

It's been so long the touch seems strange, but nice, and he can't help concentrating on it.

''I'm sorry,'' says Stiles again.

Derek shakes his head. ''Don't be,'' he repeats and gently puts his other hand on Stiles' arm.

Stiles flinches and tenses, but once he realizes it's Derek, he stops himself from leaving and slowly relaxes into the touch.

When his breathing's back to normal, he sighs. Derek can feel the warm air on the underside of his elbow.

''Thank you.''

Derek shakes his head. He really hasn't done much.

Stiles sighs again, this time slowly straightening. His eyes fall on the open book on the table.

''You were coloring?''

''Yeah.''

''Can I see?''

Derek reaches for the book and shows the half-finished picture of the sunset.

Stiles hums and smiles a little. ''You should draw a gay rainbow, right here in the middle,'' he says.

''No way. I'm going to use all the shades of red and yellow for the sky.''

''You need to brighten this picture.''

Derek frowns. ''It'll be bright.''

''Come on, make is as bright as your cats are dark, and I mean their souls, not just their fur. I still can't understand why you haven't called them Hellhounds, by the way.''

Derek huffs out a laugh and Stiles smiles weakly and sighs again, turning back to his laptop.

 

Derek is the first one to wake up in the morning. He gives his cats food, then prepares breakfast for himself and Stiles. Doing that feels good. He takes care to present everything nicely like he almost never does. There is no point to care about aesthetics when he's the only person to enjoy that.

After a while, as he is reading a finally downloaded book on his Kindle, Stiles comes in.

''Hey, you slept well?''

''Yeah.''

Derek stills, hearing a lie, and lowers the tablet to gaze at Stiles.

The boy shifts his weight and shrugs. ''It's rarely a good sleep with me, okay? I meant that this night was relatively good.''

''You should have woken me up.''

''No, it wasn't anything-'' Stiles pauses and grimaces. ''I was fine.''

Derek keeps looking at him. ''Next time wake me up, Stiles. Really.''

Stiles hums in response, avoiding the clear answer, and sits down.

''Are those radishes?'' he asks, grinning at the vegetables carved to resemble flowers. ''And apple bunnies?''

Derek can't help a smile, seeing how happy Stiles is with something this simple. His sisters had always been excited to see what he'd thought up to decorate the meal, too.

When both of them are finished, just drinking tea (''No, Stiles, I have 16 different kinds of tea and it does matter, it's not _just tea_ ''), Stiles sighs and looks at Derek, determined.

Derek looks back, curious, and Stiles glances away.

''So, about Beacon Hills,'' he starts.

He doesn't say anything more, so Derek asks, ''What about it?''

Stiles licks his lips, knocking the table with his fingers, stops and puts his hands on his lap, gazing at them. ''You know that Nemeton had possessed a spark to kill people.''

Derek nods, watching Stiles carefully.

Stiles rubs his face, then eyes his mug. ''It was me.''

Derek's lips part as he stares at him. Stiles, this young student, this boy-

but the signs were there, he realizes, frowning at the table. The touch, the nightmares, god, it makes sense-

and Stiles struggles, of course he does, still, though, looking at what he's been through-

He raises his eyes at him. ''You're doing really well, considering everything.''

Stiles snorts without humor and shakes his head. ''You have no idea how much you help me. I mean, Jesus, how patient and calm can you be? I feel so fucking guilty about-''

''Don't,'' interrupts Derek.

Stiles frowns at him. ''I can't just-''

''Don't,'' repeats Derek again. ''Stiles, I have no pack.'' He looks at Stiles, willing him to understand. ''I don't have a family or friends.'' He glances down at Cthulhu in his lap and pets his head. ''It's just me and the cats,'' he says, unable to raise his eyes.

He feels so fucking stupid. He feels so fucking lonely, and vulnerable, and ashamed of such weaknesses.

When Stiles doesn't say anything, he continues. ''I needed this, I didn't even realize how much. You don't even know how much.'' He takes a breath and adds quietly, ''It's not just for you.''

Finally, Stiles nods. ''Okay. Okay.''

 

It actually takes him a lot of time to connect one with the other. He is at his work, fighting with the program (what does _git stash pop_ command even mean? He'll have to ask Stiles for help) when he realizes it. Stiles was possessed by Nogitsune, which appeared in Beacon Hills because the Nemeton was poisoned, because the ley lines have been conducting black magic, because Darach had used them.

Darach, or Jennifer, the sweet high school teacher that smiled at him and he didn't even think of checking her scent, listening to her heartbeat, wondering if she truly was human. Why wouldn't he believe her? His family might be long dead, but he kept living by their rules.

He can suddenly feel the return of all the guilt for not stopping Darach earlier. Her magic wasn't strong at first, he could have acted, but then it was easier to just agree to whatever she suggested, easier to focus on whatever made her smile at him. For a while, it was so _easy_.

 

Next weekend and the next one Stiles stays the night as well. Derek wakes up on Sunday so early it's still dark outside just to find Stiles writing something at the table.

''What's wrong?'' he asks, blinking at the light.

Stiles shrugs. ''Doing my exercise.''

Derek keeps looking at him. College students work at the strangest times, sure, but isn't that because of parties and deadlines and...

God, he's quite old, huh.

''Your homework?'' he asks, feeling dumb.

Stiles snorts. ''No,'' he replies and rolls his shoulders, glancing at Derek. ''I need to write down what has happened in my nightmares and what I should've done instead of,'' he grimaces, ''just being there.''

Derek regards him for a while. ''Does it help?''

Stiles nods. ''I just wish I had used this magic and spells back in Beacon Hills.''

Derek freezes, his eyes locked with the boy.

 _Magic_.

Of course, he's always felt magic somewhere there but it was faint enough to ignore, especially since he's decided to stop using enhanced senses.

Stiles looks up at him, confused. ''What is it?''

Derek shakes his head and goes to the kitchen to prepare tea.

 

He can't help tensing up whenever Stiles leans somewhat closer to him. Earlier it felt like a slow growth, pulling Stiles back, helping him rebuild everything – now it just feels like a danger.

When he takes his croissant from Stiles, making sure they don't touch by accident, Stiles gives him a cold look.

''What the hell, Derek?''

Derek eyes his drink, doesn't answer.

''Why are you behaving like that? I mean, Jesus, you can't stand my rambling and my nightmares and my freaking problems just tell me-''

Derek's eyes widen as they snap to Stiles. ''God, no, it's not that,'' he interrupts at once. ''No, that's not,'' he pauses, the words always escaping him, and grimaces, letting out a breath. ''You've mentioned practicing magic.''

''Yeah.''

Stiles doesn't say anything more.

Why should he? There are so many magic users, banshees, werewolves, hunters, humans, it no longer matters.

Unless you've been subjected to a spell against your will, but how often does that happen? Almost never.

Derek bites his lip. He must have taken over the habit from Stiles, he notices involuntarily. ''What kind of magic?''

''Well, I'm a spark, so I usually just conduct the magic, but since the,'' he makes a face and a weird gesture with his hand, '' _thing_ , I've been training a bit in defense as well.''

Derek nods, not looking at him. Slowly, he wills himself to relax – and in any case, he has his Triskele tattoo. It's the last resort if he were to be ever attacked with magic again, but just the knowledge that it's there helps.

''I was made to- do things I didn't want to,'' he starts, pausing to get through the words. ''With magic.''

Stiles doesn't answer, staring at him with wide eyes.

''That's forbidden-''

''It didn't stop her,'' interrupts Derek in a rough voice. His mouth thins seeing Stiles looking at him just like those people after Darach has used too much power those last days, trying to make Derek kill- turn- to become the alpha, become stronger, so that she could take over his power.

He was overwhelmed and finally lost consciousness, and it wouldn't be unusual, just someone fainting, another guy who's worked too hard, doesn't it happen all the time?, if Lydia hadn't noticed the black substance he would cough up for a few days beforehand, the way his eyes kept changing at times – red, gold, normal – the way he kept shifting, struggling with control long after maturing, chanting _no, no, please_ at night-

''I don't want to talk about it,'' he snaps.

Stiles flinches. ''I'm sorry-''

''No,'' sighs Derek, feeling bad already, and grimaces. ''I'll tell you some other time.''

 

Stiles has decided to prepare a Polish meal which he keeps calling pierogi. Derek has no idea what to expect, especially when Stiles suddenly sighs, ''Crap. I forgot bacon.''

''You need it?''

''Yeah, it's your first experience with pierogi, it has to be perfect.''

Derek shrugs. ''I can go buy it, the shop's not that far.''

''Dude, yes, you'll be saving my dignity here.''

Derek smiles and puts his shoes on, then checks his wallet, and it's only when he grabs his jacket that he realizes he'll be leaving Stiles in his own house alone.

He freezes in surprise.

''You okay?''

Derek swallows and clears his throat. ''Yeah.''

He'll be back in no time. It's not that different from when he's asleep, right? And there are always his cats to – like, guard the house.

His eyes fall on Poe, lazily spread in the middle of the kitchen as Stiles tries to maneuver around him.

It looks so domestic he can't help watching the scene a bit longer.

Stiles frowns at him. ''What's wrong?''

''Uh, do I need to buy some food for the cats?''

Stiles barely manages not to step on Poe's tail, opening the fridge. ''I guess you could.''

Derek nods and gazes at Stiles as he bends to pet Poe, the cat arching into the contact, purring.

He goes out.

 

As soon as he sees Stiles, he can't help a laugh.

''Why do you have pen marks on your neck?''

''Huh?'' Stiles looks at him and frowns, his hand rising up. ''Oh, right. Intro to Supernatural History was really boring today.''

Derek smiles and tries to rub off the smudge, but stops moving when Stiles freezes under him.

''Dude,'' Stiles' eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open, ''are you scent-marking me?''

Derek looks back, stilling his movements, then quickly retracts his hand. ''Uh,'' he feels as freaked out as Stiles looks, ''I'm sorry. I didn't mean- I can tell Scott-''

''Scott's fine,'' Stiles shakes his head, still keeping the eye contact. ''I spend so much time with you it doesn't really bother him anymore.'' Stiles glances downwards and back at Derek, licking his lips. ''I guess it's okay. You know,'' he shrugs. ''You're a werewolf, it's normal,'' he adds, and tilts his head to the side.

God. _He doesn't mean it like that_ , thinks Derek somewhat hysterically, placing his hand on Stiles' neck. _He may learn about supernatural, he may have a best friend who's a werewolf but that doesn't mean he really understands what it means, that he understands the implications._

 

Derek wakes up in the middle of the night. Someone is calling him and he answers the phone with a raspy voice. ''Yes?''

He can't hear anything besides breathing on the other side and frowns, tries to glance at the too bright screen, blinking rapidly.

''Stiles? Are you there?''

Finally, he can hear a quiet, ''Yeah.''

His frown deepening, suddenly his stomach drops with a bad feeling, and he sits up. ''Stiles, are you okay?'' he asks, alarmed. ''What happened?''

''No, no, it's fine,'' the boy replies. ''Sorry, I know it's late, it's just – Scott's at a party to meet the love of his life. I practically pushed him out the doors and now I can't even-'' he sighs.

When he doesn't say anything more, Derek asks, ''You didn't want to go?''

Stiles chuckles without cheer. ''Yeah, party sounds great. All those people I don't know touching me, drunk, deafening music and sweat.''

''I thought it was getting better, with the touch.''

''It is,'' answers Stiles. ''I just don't really like it, with other people.''

Derek can't help asking himself if it means Stiles likes touching him. He pushes the thought away as soon as it comes.

''Sorry. I called because of a nightmare,'' Stiles takes a breath, ''you know. It was realistic.''

''Do you need to write it down?''

''No,'' replies Stiles immediately. ''I mean yes, but no, I just really don't want to think about it again.''

Derek is struck with a sudden need to touch Stiles, just to make sure he is okay. It's an odd urge – mostly, he wants people to leave him alone, before they realize that he is _the last_ Hale and look at him with wide eyes, before they realize he has no pack and frown at him, not understanding, before they somehow realize he was with Darach and start keeping their distance.

''Okay,'' he agrees quietly. ''What was this essay about shapeshifters?''

Stiles doesn't answer at first, then huffs out a laugh. ''I can't believe you remembered it.''

Derek hums and Stiles starts talking.

He does have a kind-of-pack now, though, doesn't he?

 

''Hey, do you think I can come over earlier on Wednesday? My afternoon class was canceled and I thought I could start making lasagna since it takes some time to prepare.''

''I finish at 5.''

''Ah, okay,'' Stiles shrugs. ''I can wait for you-''

''No, just take my key.''

Stiles stares at him. ''Is that okay?'' he asks, hesitating.

''Yeah, no one uses the spare one anyway.''

Stiles blinks at him, Derek looks back. The proposition probably shouldn't have come this easily to him.

Stiles takes the key.

The thing is, though, they forget about it as it stays hidden in Stiles' pocket. Stiles is about to return it on Thursday, but he may skip one of his classes on Friday and come over earlier, so Derek tells him to keep it. On Saturday, the key comes back to Derek just to come back to Stiles, because he won't go out to buy another ingredient in case Stiles forgot something again, he is learning how to become the Master of GitHub (yeah, it has come to this point).

And then, he receives a text from Lydia, asking when can they meet.

 

''Hey, can I come over tomorrow as well? Scott has invited Kira and it's this stage of their friendship when I'm afraid to come back home in case they are finally making out.''

Derek huffs out a laugh. ''Sure. Do you two plan to go to your parents on Thanksgiving?''

Stiles avoids replying at first, bending to take out the madeleines from the oven, then putting them out on a plate.

''I don't know,'' he says finally. ''I don't really want to see Beacon Hills, but I'd like to meet my dad.''

Derek nods, mixing the chocolate.

''Hey, could you come with me to Beacon Hills?''

Derek turns to him, surprised. ''I-''

''Sorry,'' Stiles snaps his head away. ''Sorry, I can't ask you to-''

''It's okay,'' says Derek. ''I'd like to come if your dad's fine with it. But I can't be gone for long, I can't leave the cats alone.''

Stiles gives him a small smile, his shoulders relaxing. ''Thanks.''

Derek puts the pan with melted chocolate away from the hotplate just for a bit to drop on his shirt. He puts the saucepan on the table, trying to drive Noir, who is sniffing the shirt, fascinated, away from the chocolate stain and accidentally knocks off his coloring book.

Stiles just watches his struggle, smirking.

Derek shoots him a glare and turns around, taking off his shirt.

''You have a tattoo?''

He glances at Stiles, staring at his back. He swallows, looks downwards, suddenly wondering if he should check Stiles' smell for attraction, immediately decides against it, not wanting to know the answer.

''Yeah,'' he replies, hoping it'll finish the topic.

Amazingly, it does. Stiles glances at him and nods, then picks up the coloring book.

 

Fine. Maybe peanut noodles aren't half bad. They go oddly well with spring onion.

''Sooo...?''

Stiles' doesn't need to hear that again, though.

Derek hums noncommittally.

''Don't give me this,'' Stiles jabs him in a stomach, then moves closer to attack his other side as well. ''I need a proper review here, with stars, poetic description of taste and recommendation.''

Derek huffs out a laugh, still not replying. Stiles is plastered to his side now, drumming on his knee with his fingers as they sit on the couch.

''Still waiting,'' he shoots and turns to look at Derek with a smile.

They end up way too close, close enough that if either of them moves they could kiss-

and Derek doesn't lean back. Can't. Keeps gazing at Stiles with wide eyes, feeling completely open, watching as Stiles' smile falters, changing to a more serious, genuine expression, the moment lasts too long, he should do something-

Stiles turns away, laying his head on Derek's shoulder. ''Next time I'll make something you won't be able to stay silent about,'' he threatens, and Derek smiles, letting out a breath he was keeping.

Too late, then. He knows there is something here, something resembling a relationship or whatever else, and it doesn't matter whether he likes it or not – it's already present.

 

Lydia smiles at him as he opens the door, Stiles somewhere behind him.

''It's good to see you,'' Derek says earnestly, inviting her in.

Her smile widens and she enters, then keeps looking at him expectantly.

''Uh, you want some tea?'' he asks, somewhat confused.

Lydia rolls her eyes and hugs him, taking care to not startle Noir, watching them.

Derek huffs out a laugh and leans back. ''Lydia, this is Stiles, my friend, and Stiles, this is...''

''Yeah,'' interrupts Stiles with an unreadable smile, ''we know each other.''

''Beacon Hills,'' explains Lydia quietly, glancing at Derek.

They go to the living room, Lydia greeting each cat properly.

''So, how long have you known each other?'' asks Stiles.

''About two years.''

Derek nods. ''We met just before Darach.''

Stiles turns to him, his eyebrows furrowed. ''Darach?''

He shakes his head. ''I'll tell you later,'' he promises, ignoring Lydia's surprised glance. ''When did you come back from Beacon Hills?''

''Two, three weeks ago.''

Derek glances at her, his eyebrows raised.

''I still had work to do,'' she shrugs.

Stiles snorts. Lydia sends him a glare. Derek frowns, looking between them.

''Oh, right,'' Stiles says suddenly, snapping his head to Derek and smirking. ''I have to show Lydia some photos.''

''Really,'' says Lydia flatly.

''Yeah, just look at this one,'' says Stiles, getting up and walking around the table to sit next to her. ''Adorable, am I right? Those sprawled cats. And Derek's sleeping right in the middle of them. Heart-melting, huh?'' he glances at Derek triumphantly and then at Lydia.

''Yeah,'' she repeats, her voice even flatter.

''Oh come on, you haven't seen this side of Derek, have you?''

''Actually,'' sighs Lydia, ''I was the one that took this photo.''

Stiles stills. ''Oh,'' he says, then stands up and slowly turns to sit down next to Derek, making sure to leave a lot of space for Poe.

''The cats seem pretty used to having Stiles here,'' notices Lydia.

''Oh, no,'' Stiles shakes his head. ''I don't come here that often.''

Derek turns to him, puzzled. ''You come over 2, 3 times a week, if not every day, I'd say that's quite often.''

So fast he is not quite sure he saw it right, Lydia shoots Stiles a glare.

''Those cookies are really good. You made them yourself?'' she asks, looking up at Derek.

''Yes,'' says Stiles, nodding.

''No,'' Derek frowns at him. ''Stiles made them.''

''Oh, come on, it was almost all you.''

''It was your recipe, you mixed the ingredients and shaped them.''

Stiles shakes his head with a too-wide smile. ''Don't diminish yourself, you put them in the oven.''

Derek turns to him, incredulous. ''Yeah, it was literally the only thing I did.''

Lydia looks at Stiles. ''How nice of you to share them with Derek.''

''No, we made them here, in my apartment.''

''Really?'' Now Lydia's _pinning_ Stiles with a look, but he's completely focused on his mug.

Okay, there is definitely something here he's missing.

Not to mention this need to put himself between them, to protect Stiles, 'cause that's ridiculous.

He settles on reaching behind Stiles to pet Poe, taking most of the couch for himself. As he retreats his hand, he brushes Stiles' neck, scent-marking him.

Trying to be subtle doesn't stop Lydia from staring at him incredulously.

''So, you two are rather close,'' she says finally.

''No, no, not really,'' denies Stiles immediately, shaking his head.

''We are,'' states Derek, slinging his arm around Stiles and scent-marking him again, but keeping the hand there. Whatever. Stiles said he's okay with it.

He is completely tensed up now, though, staring at his mug again as he keeps turning it. ''I'm sorry,'' he blurts out to Lydia suddenly. ''I tried, okay? And I really like Allison's coffee, so when she made me decide Derek or coffee,'' he shrugs, turning to Derek. ''I mean, I like you, man, but _coffee_.''

Derek looks back at him, not quite sure what's going on, and takes his hand back after a beat.

''No, no!'' Stiles grabs it and puts it back on his arm. ''It's good,'' he says, nodding his head and blushing furiously. ''Ever since you first scent-marked me, I couldn't help thinking that, uh, maybe you're better than coffee. And after you remembered that I had an essay to write about shapeshifters – it was such a small detail, who pays attention to stuff like that,'' he rubs his neck, shaking his head and looking on the floor. ''You're worth not drinking Allison's coffee again.''

''I- Thank you?'' asks Derek, confused. The whole thing sounded awfully lot like a – confession, and they've been slowly getting closer, but it still feels sudden, and he shouldn't think about it now, when his head is spinning with Stiles petting Poe, scratching the cat's chin, avoiding Derek's eyes, so let's just – not think. Not react. Not now, not around Stiles. ''Allison?''

''Yeah, she makes the best coffee ever. I kept coming back to the Molotov Cocktail café and that's how I actually met Lydia,'' he says, smirking at the woman.

''I'll talk with Allison to let you still drink their coffee,'' Lydia speaks up. ''But one time I see Derek hurt, Stiles,'' she continues, narrowing her eyes. '' _One time._ Allison's other threat, about weapons and the amazing things you can achieve with them, stays.''

'' _Allison, huh?_ '' Stiles' smirk grows even bigger.

''You'd be surprised at her gun collection. This and my magic,'' she pauses, staring at Stiles. ''Think about it. In _detail_.''

''Fine, okay, Jesus, 'm not saying anything,'' Stiles raises his hands.

''Same goes to you, Derek,'' says Lydia, turning to him. ''One time I see Stiles' hurting-''

''Okay,'' agrees Derek at once. He's never been good with threats. ''Okay.''

''Well, I'm going, then,'' Lydia stands up. ''I still have a date with Allison.''

'' _Allison, hu-_ ''

Lydia places her hand on Cthulhu's neck. ''I hear that one more time and I'll make Cthulhu cuddle the shit out of you.''

''I don't think that's the Cthulhu you meant. And it doesn't even sound like a threat!''

Lydia keeps looking at Stiles, nodding. ''Yeah, that's what you'd believe.''

''You're endangering my Cthulhu here,'' interrupts Derek, offended.

Lydia sends them both a withering look and leaves.

''So,'' says Stiles, clapping his hands, intertwining his fingers, and then rubbing his neck, glancing somewhere else. ''We can always forget this happened.''

''The Cthulhu part? Not ever.''

Stiles huffs out a laugh, then licks his lips, his eyes cast downwards.

''I'm not sure I got everything right,'' says Derek.

Stiles sighs and nods. ''I went back to the Molotov Cocktail café after we've met there, it was on my way, and got a coffee. It was the best coffee I've ever had. I kept coming back there almost every day, moaning around it and trying to get Allison to talk to me. She was hard to break.''

''Why did you want to talk with her?''

''Just to, you know,'' he shrugs, ''make sure she was okay.''

Derek keeps watching him, still not sure if he can take that as Stiles caring for him. But what else could it be?

If he believes Stiles to be a good person, what else could it be?

''Anyway, one day I met Lydia there. I'm not sure how anymore, but she realized that we're friends and was bent on us staying _just_ friends. Said something about your bad past relationship, and that you need just friends now. I told her I could totally be your friend, but uh, she didn't believe me. At all. Allison made me choose, either coffee or trying something more with you.''

''But,'' Derek shakes his head, ''why would Allison care?''

Stiles gives him a smile. ''I think you've grown on her,'' he shrugs. ''She cares about you, in her own odd way.''

Derek frowns. ''She doesn't like me enough to feed the cats while we're in Beacon Hills, though, right?''

Stiles snorts. ''I think Lydia will convince her.''

When he doesn't say anything more, Derek licks his lips. ''And? What happened later?'' he prompts, completely swept with the story.

''To be continued, I guess,'' replies Stiles, leaning back to let Noir jump on his lap. He won't meet Derek's eyes, his cheeks flushed.

Derek looks at him, letting himself remember all the thoughts he has pushed away. All the small expressions, familiarities, gestures, touches with Stiles. He lets out a breath.

''I said I'll tell you about Darach.''

Stiles glances at him, a bit confused with a change of topic but nods. ''You mean the witch Darach?'' he asks when Derek's still silent.

''Yes, although I've never met _Darach_ ,'' replies Derek, grimacing. ''She said her name was Jennifer. She was teaching English in high school.''

He wills his hands to relax, staring at them, before continuing. ''I thought she was – _sweet_ ,'' he lets out, wincing, disgust rolling through him. ''She was pretty and kept smiling at me. I didn't think it was suspicious how I needed to keep in touch with her.'' He shakes his head. ''I don't know, I thought it was just that important for me because I wasn't with anyone-''

He stops and forcibly takes in a slow breath, starts petting Noir, who rubs against his leg. ''It was magic. When I realized something was wrong, it was too late. I couldn't do anything against her.''

He doesn't speak for a while, trying to put everything in order in his head, struggling against the guilt everywhere.

''She chose me because I was weak. Omega, no pack, easy to manipulate,'' he says without any feeling. It's true, after all. ''But she needed power, and for that, she needed me to be an alpha. She tried to make me kill- at least turn-''

''It's illegal,'' says Stiles quietly.

''It didn't make her care,'' snaps Derek and swiftly turns away. ''I'm sorry.''

Stiles shakes his head mutely.

''She used too much magic at once and I couldn't take it. I was lucky Lydia realized what was going on.''

He lets out a breath and stops talking. It's enough. It has to be.

He has a dumb urge to do something with his hands, so he fists them, trying to remain motionless against all the nerves.

''I'm sorry.''

Stiles' voice is quiet again, different from how bright he can be at times. Derek shrugs with one arm, never quite sure how to react to the words.

''I know I've said all this stuff,'' starts Stiles and licks his lips, not looking at Derek, ''but can I just keep coming here? You know what it means, all this stuff I've told you, but I'm not sure if I can-''

''I'll wait for you,'' Derek blurts out. ''I'll wait for you.''

Stiles raises his eyes up to his. ''I can't ask you to-''

''Please,'' says Derek quietly. ''I want to.''

Stiles nods, still hesitating.

''I- after Darach it's still too soon for me,'' he adds. ''So it's not-''

''Okay,'' agrees Stiles, as quiet as him. ''I'll wait for you, too.''

They keep looking at each other, already overwhelmed with just the sliver of hope. Slowly, Derek reaches for Stiles' hand, putting two of Stiles' fingers against his lips in a small kiss. Then, still slow, mindful of Stiles' expression, presses them against Stiles' lower lip, as his mouth is slightly open, his eyes big, gazing at Derek.

The moment is broken as Noir stretches suddenly, embedding his claws in both Derek's and Stiles' thighs.

They both startle and huff out a laugh, start petting the cat. Glancing up, Derek can see Stiles' small smile and puts his hand on his neck, scent-marking him again, just because he can. Stiles tilts his head a little to the side to give him a better access.

''God,'' breathes Derek, ''do you even know what it means when you do that?''

Stiles turns to him and blinks. ''That I recognize you as my alpha.''

Derek waits for something more, some kind of denial, but Stiles seems to be expecting his reaction, so he frowns slightly. ''Yes, but – you're okay with it?''

''Yeah.''

Derek keeps watching him, taken aback. ''But it seems as if you do it without thinking. Like it's,'' he shakes his head a bit, '' _natural._ ''

Stiles shrugs slowly, looking away. ''It is.'' He licks his lips. ''Even the first time it felt normal.''

Derek blinks, trying to keep his eyes from changing. ''Can I- my senses, I try to not use them, but can I smell-''

Stiles meets his eyes, hesitating, and licks his lips again. ''Yeah,'' he nods.

Leaning in, Derek's nose almost close enough to touch Stiles' neck, he lets himself take in everything he can. His and Stiles' smells intertwined, the presence of attraction, but beneath it something sweeter, warmer, and even further Scott's alpha scent and a faint tang of magic. It all still constitutes Stiles, his friend. His pack.

''I like your scent,'' he says quietly.

He can feel Stiles' smile as he tilts his head a little to the side, touching Derek's temple.

''I like your sweaters,'' he replies and Derek chuckles.

He leans his forehead against Stiles' arm, his temple touching Stiles' cheek, his hand still on Stiles' neck, and focuses just on the warmth, the comforting smell, the beating of Stiles' heart.

All his defenses down, he finally feels safe, happy.

 


End file.
